


Marauders - Year One

by Lukewasgay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marauders - Fandom
Genre: Multi, more characters as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 05:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17822975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lukewasgay/pseuds/Lukewasgay
Summary: It's one thousand underage wizards stuck in a castle for nine month with two boys that have no commom sense and their exasperated friends, how well do you think this is going to go?





	Marauders - Year One

**Author's Note:**

> I am an actual child with little-to-no writing experience outside of those crappy prompts you get in English that can only be two pages long max. Please remember this when you are harshly judging me for something I wrote at two a.m. Not even I'm proud of this.

Eleven year old Lily Evans sat at her desk, knowing that her schooling was pointless. After this summer, she was off to Hogwarts with her best friend, Severus Snape. Even as she thought about it, excitement shot through her. This last term of school had been nearly unbearable when she knew so much more was out there, waiting for her to discover it.

“MS. EVANS!” came the sharp voice of her teacher, “I am aware that school is almost over for the day, but I must ask that you pay attention. You are still here, and while you are here, you will learn.”

Lily swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“I should think. Now, back to the lesson. As I was saying, long division is actually quite simple when you know what you’re doing. . .”

Within minutes, the whole class had zoned out again. The only bit of excitement that occured was ten minutes before the bell when the door flung itself open, scaring all the children and thoroughly surprising the teacher, who chalked it up to a bad prank. Only Lily knew what had happened and that she was responsible. 

"Mum, Dad, I’m home,” Lily yelled, opening the front door. She dropped her bag in the doorway and found Petunia in the sitting room, reading a book. “Hey, Tuney.” Her older sister was in the sitting room, reading school book. The lamps light only accentuated her harsh, birdlike features. Lily herself was very child-like in her appereance, which stands to reason given that she is eleven, she was maybe even a little on the small side. Her thick red hair was in her face constantly, and her mother was fighting a losing battle whenever she tried to control it. The most striking part about her, though, even at such a young age, was her brilliant green eyes.

“Hello, freak.” Lily flinched and saw Petunia smirk.

“Where’s mum and dad?” Petunia kept pointely reading her book, resolved to ignore her. When Lily made it clear she wasn’t going anywhere until she got an answer, her older sister sighed inwardly. “They are in the kitchen, though I doubt they want to see you.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” Petunia explained, finally putting down her book, “If I were a mother, I would be ashamed to have a child like you.” Petunia saw that her younger sister didn’t understand the jab and continued. “Mad, crazy, mental. They are probably in there right now trying to find a place to send you so the rest of us can go on with our lives normally.”

Lily stared at her feet, not responding. “Oh, they don’t know yet? About those stories the boy is filling your head with? How he’s brainwashed you?” At this point, Petunia had stood and was slowly approaching Lily, glaring. She was aware that the insults she was hurling at Lily were lies, but they made her feel better. Angry bubbled in Lily’s guy. Petunia pranced past her, chin held high.

“You’re wrong.” Petunia stopped at the top of the stairs, and turned to sneer at Lily, who was standing at the base, fist balled and face set in determined, angry lines.

“What?”

“You are wrong. They aren’t sending me away. You’ve seen my magic, you’re lying becaue you're upset that you’re _normal_.” Lily watched as her older sister turned red. For a moment, she though Petunia was going to march down the stairs and slap her, but she simply turned and stomped to her bedroom, leaving Lily in the hallway, alone.

* * * * * * * * * *

Remus Lupin was laying in his bed, pale and sweating. Sandy hair was plastered to the sick boys forehead, and his usually thin face looked down like corpse-like with, thanks to the illness, prominent cheek bones and ghost-white skin. His mother, Hope, walked in his a steaming cup of tea. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Horrid,” he croaked, wrapping the blankets more tightly around himself. His mother sat on the end of his bed, setting her son’s tea on his nightstand. She was a middle aged woman who still bore the marks of beauty on her. If anything, the streaks of grey in her formally blonde hair only added to her looks, making her more mature and sophisticated.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s horrible that the full moon is so close to your birthday this year. But on the bright side, you turn eleven tomorrow. We can go get you a wand soon and your dad can start teaching you magic."

Remus’ smiled was small, weak and completely fake. “Can’t I go to Hogwarts? We could make it work.”

Mrs. Lupin stroked her son’s hair, brushing strands of it out of his eyes. “No, sweetheart. I’m afraid you’ll have to be homeschooled. We can’t let anyone find out about you. They’d take you away. People are scared of what they don’t understand.” Remus nodded sadly and turned over so that his back faced Hope. “I’m going to bed, I feel sick.”

“Alright, honey,” said Mrs. Lupin, defeated. “I’ll leave the tea on your nightstand.” Moments later, Hope and Lyall Lupin were in their sitting room, discussing their son. “Lyall, maybe we should send him to Hogwarts. It might be good for him to have friends for once.”

“Hope, we have been over this,” Mr. Lupin said in a tone that did not invite argument. “We can’t risk other students finding out about his . . .condition. They’ll kill him.” Mrs. Lupin’s lips were pressed tightly together.

“He will continue to grow. Eventually we will not be able to control him. Where will we be then? Hogwarts has Dumbledore. You told me that he is the most powerful wizard ever. I’m sure he can figure something out.”

“There has been Dark stirrings, Hope. I have told you the story of my parents? Grindelwald using Dark magic to bring the world to it’s knees? According to them, this is what it was like. Whispers of horror, disappearances. It’s happening again. Wizards are not going to trust anyone they perceive as evil. Werewolves, vampires, ghouls. None of them are safe, including him.” At that moment, a knock sounded on their door. “Really,” Lyall exclaimed, “At this time of night?”

“Honey, it is only five thirty,” she reminded him. She understood, however. Anyone coming to call without their previous knowledge was unsettling. At any moment, it could be the Ministry coming for their son. The knock came again, louder.

“I’ll get it, Hope, you go get Remus.” Lyall opened the door to find Albus Dumbledore. Shock, fear, and anger ran through him. “No.” He began to shut the door on the old man, when Hope appeared by his side, having ushered Remus into the sitting room.

“Ahh,” Dumbledore said, “this must be your wife. Hello, I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and you are?” He stuck his hand through the small crack in the door, allowing Mrs. Lupin to shake it.

“H-Hope. Hope Lovetta Howell Lupin.”

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment. “How charming. May I enter?” Before anyone answered, he began to push his way through.

“No,” Lyall responded again, barring him from coming in further. “No, you may not enter. We are not sending our son to Hogwarts. Good day.” With that, Lyall pushed Dumbledore out and closed the door.

“Is that going to work?” Hope asked. “I mean, I want Remus to live a normal life, but. . .” Her nerves were still tingling with fear. Dumbledore did not seem the type to just accept being rudely pushed out of a house.

“It has to. If he comes back, we’ll just do it again. We can’t let him take Remus.” Mr. Lupin was leaning heavily on the door, even though no one was trying to get in.

“I-I know. Can you put up more charms to keep him away? I’ll go make tea for all of us to calm our nerves, then put Remus to bed.” Lyall nodded and the both set about their tasks. Unbeknownst to them, Dumbledore would not be using the door again.

“Have you put Remus to bed yet?” Mr. Lupin asked upon re-entering the house. He gratefully took a cup of tea from his wife and downed it in one gulp. He didn't even notice that it was scalding hot, or the fact that it was spiked with fire whiskey, to calm his nerves.

“No,” Hope said with a shake of her head, “But I can hear him in the sitting room playing that wizarding game you got him last year.” A look of confusion and worry darkened Lyall’s face. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“That’s a two person game.” They both rushed into the sitting room to find Remus and Albus Dumbledore playing Gobstones. All of the couples fear and shock were replaced with fury. “Get out,” Lyall nearly shouted startling Dumbledore and scaring poor Remus. “I told you no. Leave my home now.” Before Dumbledore could even respond, Remus spoke, a wide grin on his face.

“Dad, dad, wait. This man is from Hogwarts. He said I could go! He’s found a way to make it work!” Lyall and Hope exchanged doubtful looks.

“Listen, Professor, we know you have good intentions, but our son is. . .” Dumbledore, not unkindly, held up a hand for silence.

“I know what happened to your son. I have a spy among Voldemort’s werewolf packs that told. Fenrir Greyback had been speaking of the incident for quite some time, apparently.” Remus gasped suddenly.

“Fenrir Greyback? Is that the werewolf wh-who. . .” His sentence trailed off. Remus was unconsciously rubbing the scar on his shoulder that had turned him. Hope rushed to her son’s side and pulled him close.

“Yes, sweet heart.”

Remus was silent for a moment as all three adults stared at him. “I feel bad for him,” the boy declared, “he didn’t know what he was doing. He may not even know he turned me. I never remember what happened when I woke up.” Lyall and Hope shot Dumbledore warning glances.

“Of course dear. How thoughtful of you.”

Dumbledore smiled. “You have demonstrated compassion far beyond your years, Mr. Lupin.” Remus positively glowed at the praise. He may have only met Dumbledore moments ago, but, to Remus, he was already a hero.

Lyall was looking at Albus is a completely different way. “You still can’t take him.”

“Oh, my dear man, do you think I’ve come here without a plan on how your son could have a normal Hogwarts experience, or as normal as it gets? Of course not. The staff and I have figured out a way. There is an abandoned house in the wizard village of Hogsmeade and a tunnel leading to it on the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. The Herbology professor, Professor Birk, has planted a Whomping Willow at the entrance to the tunnel. An hour before sunset every full moon, he will through the tunnel and transform in the house. Where-” he continued a bit more loudly, seeing Lyall was about to interrupt, “The most powerful of protective charms have been placed by me and my trustworthy staff. I assure you that your son will be well cared for during his time at Hogwarts, and no word of his ailment will be passed along to anyone outside of the staff, unless he tells them himself.”

Remus’ grin was so wide that it wiped any evidence of sickness off of his features. “Please, mum, please please please. I swear I’ll be good, I won’t tell anyone. I’ll get the best grades in every class and become prefect. Please let me go.” Seeing their son beg, his parent’s hearts melted, and before they could stop themselves, they both agreed.

“Lovely!” Dumbledore exclaimed delightedly, “We expect you to be at King’s Cross Station on September First. Here is your supply list, you will be able to get all of this in Diagon Alley. See you at Hogwarts.” With that, Dumbledore turned on the spot and disappeared, which Remus found amazing.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Black House was quiet, Sirius, Walburga and Orion all sound asleep. Regulus, on the other hand, was staring at the ceiling. The ten year old boy couldn’t get to sleep. He was thinking of Hogwarts, the wizarding school that he wouldn’t be able to go to for another whole year. Finally, at nearly two in the morning, he resolved to wake Sirius.

His older brother did not like this idea quite so much as Regulus did. “Go to bed,” Sirius groaned, pushing his brother away. His shoulder length black hair was in his face, obscuring his handsome features.

“Can you show me your letter again? Please? I just want to see it one more time,” Regulus begged.

“You’ve heard it everyday since it came in November. Don’t you have it memorized by now?” Sirius rolled over, saw his brother’s large puppy eyes and broke. “Fine. Only one more time.” Sirius reached under his pillow and pulled out a worn piece of paper. “Dear, Sirius Black,” he began, “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress.” Despite how often Regulus had heard the letter, his eyes grew wider with every word Sirius spoke.

“Can I come with you to Diagon Alley?” Sirius smiled, but covered his face with his hair so Regulus didn’t see it.

“You’ll have to ask Mum and Dad, but you’ve always been the favorite, so I bet they let you come.” Regulus rolled his eyes.

“I am not the favorite.”

Sirius’ smile became a bit strained. Almost subconsciously, Sirius ran a hand over his shoulder, feeling the ends of the gnarled scars that knotted his back. “Trust me, Regulus, yes you are. Now go to bed.” Regulus seemed reluctant to leave. “Go, you don’t want Mum and Dad to catch you up, do you?” Regulus’ face whitened and he practically ran back to his room.

Sirius flopped back onto his bed and immediately wished that he hadn’t. The latest gashes on his back still hadn’t quite healed and Sirius could feel parts of the scabs crack and bleed. A small gasp of pain escaped his lips before he slapped a hand on his mouth. Regulus might come back to check what happened. He couldn’t know. Forcing himself to concentrate as hard as possible, Sirius focused on his injuries. He had used magic to heal himself before, albeit accidentally, but it couldn’t hurt to try again.

The sensation of his back binding itself back together was nearly strange enough to break his focus, but it was working. Once the oozing blood had stopped, Sirius realized that he wasn’t breathing and took three quick gasps of air. It only had to work for six more month, than he was off the Hogwarts. Only the summer holiday had to be endured after that, but Sirius had managed for eleven years.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Mum?” James yelled as he tore down the steps. His mother was getting the mail as her young son ran up to her. Her grey hair was arranged in a tight bun today. She smiled at James and shook her head.

“No, sweetums,” Mrs. Potter said, ruffling her son’s hair, “You’re Hogwarts letter hasn’t arrived yet. It’s only March tenth, you still have seventeen days till you are eleven. Your letter will come and then we can go to Diagon Alley and get you a wand.”

“Can I get a broom? My old one is starting to splinter. I wanna be on the Quidditch team.” Fleamont Potter chuckled as he walked into the hall to great his wife. He was a good-natured greying man with laugh lines set deeply in his face.

“James, a first year hasn’t been on the Quidditch team in about seventy five years.” James just smiled and stuck out his bottom lip at his mother. As he knew she would, Euphemia buckled.

“Of course we can get you a new broom. And an owl, too, so I can send you a letter every day.” James groaned, but he’d be lying if he said that he wouldn’t miss his parents. Mrs. Potter tried to bear hug him to embarrass him further. James, however, just went completely limp and sunk to the floor, complaining the whole way down. His parents chuckled, Fleamont scooping his son up and all three of them went into the kitchen for a delicious breakfast of eggs, ham, and bacon.

“What is Hogwarts like?” James asked through a mouthful of breakfast. This was a regularly asked question in the Potter househole. Ever since James' tenth birthday, nearly a year ago.

“Well,” said Mrs. Potter, “the castle is huge, and the grounds are simply divine. I especially love the lake. It was nice to do my homework on the beach with some of my friends when the weather was nice.”

“Both of you were in Gryffindor, right?” James, of course, knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it again.

“Of course, and I am sure you will be too.” James considered this for a moment, shadows of doubt creasing his face. One of his friends had told him that most purebloods end up in Slytherin, like the Selwyns and the Blacks.. “What if I’m in Slytherin?”

“What?” asked both Potters at the same time. “Why would you think that?” Euphemia continued, alarmed.

“Well, I’m a pureblood, aren’t I? Alex told me that’s where purebloods tend to go.” James shrugged casually, he hadn't learned the prejudice yet, “I mean, I want to be in Gryffindor but. . .”

Euphemia and Fleemont exchanged dark glances. Granted, they were both children when Grindewald was rising to power, but they remembered the warnings. “Listen, son, now is not the time to be thinking like that, alright?” Fleamont said, with a note of finality that James either didn't catch or chose to ignore.

“Why not?”

“Honey,” Euphemia started, “being a Pureblood Slytherin is just not very safe right now, alright?” Again, trying to end the conversation before they had to ruin their son's childhood illusions.

James looked from his mother to his father. “Why? Is it because of those Death Eaters? The ones I saw on the paper yesterday?” His parents exchanged glances that James was too young to understand.

“Yes,” Mr. Potter said, “those Death Eaters came from Slytherin. Their evil.”

James wasn't sure whether they meant Death Eaters or Slytherin's, but it didn't matter to him.

* * * * * * * * * *

“M-mum?” Peter asked, hands shaking. His mother didn’t even look up from the paper. “Mum,” he tried again, a little louder. “MUM!” Emily Pettigrew made a small grunting noise that Peter had become accustomed to being greeted with. She was still a young woman, thirty five, though not a single person would dare guess that high. Her long black hair was straight and glossy, as always, and her unsmiling features were equal parts harsh and beautiful. Tall and imposing, she looked down on nearly everyone. “It’s April first,” Peter continued, “My eleventh birthday. My Hogwarts letter came.”

“I suppose that means you have to do extra chores around here to pay for your school supplies?” his mother responded, staring at him over the Daily Prophet.

“Y-yes, of course. I’ll start in the morning.” Peter hadn’t known what to expect, but this was one of the better outcomes. He was still disappointed though. In his mind, Peter had seen his mother being excited about her only child going to Hogwarts, like she had. Maybe when his father got home, they’d celebrate with good food, possibly a present. But even at eleven years old, Peter was disillusioned and knew that scenario only existed in his head, mostly because his mother would never allow it.

“Nonsense, you’ll start tonight. Dinner needs made. Don’t burn it.” Peter sulked into the kitchen. The small thrill of excitement he felt when the owl had pecked on his window that morning was gone, replaced with a deep sadness Peter had learned not to dwell on for too long.

“What’d you want to eat, Mum?” he yelled into the other room.

“Soup, it’s the one thing you can’t ruin.” Peter could hear the sneer in her voice. Sighing, he began to gather ingredients. He tried to keep the prep to a minimum, because Peter knew he would also have to do the dishes, so tomato soup it was. His mother would complain, because she did about everything, but at least his father would try and choke it down, no matter how bad it was, for Peter’s sake.

Half an hour later, the soup was ready. As the young boy was serving himself and his mother, Edis Pettigrew walked through the door. “Is that soup I smell?” Peter smiled and nodded proudly as his father came into the kitchen, wearing his blue Magical Maintenance robes from the Ministry. “Well, you simply must dish me some.” Edis was a kindly man, short and plump. Unlike his wife, he was forty and looked fifty. All his hair was grey, and none of it was going in the same direction, which gave him a slightly deranged look that was not helped at all by the fact that his eyes were two different colors. One green, the other blue. Even Emily smiled when he entered, giving him a quick kiss.

“How was work?” she asked. Peter let out a sigh of relief. Things were better when his father was around, not only because he is the nicest man in all of Britain, but because he had a grounding affect on his mother. . .sometimes.

“Good. Quiet, to be honest. Although several cursed ducks wondered out of The Department of Illegal Charms on Non-Magical Animals. They breathed fire, melted the fountain in the Atrium, but that was an easy fix.” Peter and his mother ate as Edis regaled them with tales of what he’s had to deal with in his fifteen years at the Ministry. A whole dragon once came loose from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Beasts Division. Another time, a group of centaurs broke into the Ministry because one of the brethren were being wrongfully questioned for an attack on Muggles.

Peter, seeing everyone was done, began to clean. Mr. Pettigrew stopped him. “Peter, it’s your birthday, let me do that.” Emily looked as if she were about to argue, but stopped herself, and settled to give her son a see-your-father-is-helpful look.

After dinner, Peter went straight to bed, even though it was only seven-thirty. The day hadn’t been harder or particularly worse than any other day, but this one had definitely been more draining for some reason.

A few minutes later, his father entered, holding a cake. “I snuck this past your mother. Happy Birthday, Peter.” For the second time that day, a jolt of excitement jumped in Peter’s gut.

“Thanks, dad.” Together, they ate the cake, hidden in Peter’s room.

“I didn’t have enough money on me for a present, but I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Pettigrew said after the cake was gone, “We’ll get you an owl when we go to Diagon Alley, alright?”

It was better than anything he’d ever imagined. Peter knew his father loved him, but he was working overtime at the Ministry nearly every night. This was mostly because his department was horrifically understaffed, and everyone of them were overworked, but Peter knew none of this.

“That sounds amazing. I think I want a barn owl.” Edis smiled.

“What’ll you name it?” Peter shrugged, thinking hard.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to meet it first, I think.”

“Alright. We’ll probably go in July, when I have some time off. Good night, Peter.”

“Good night, dad.” For the first time in months, Peter Pettigrew went to bed content with his life.


End file.
